Words Unspoken
by Kitrinlu
Summary: Joffrey loves his father, but sometimes he has trouble showing it


Joffrey handed the reins of his horse to the head groom with a curt nod. He wished he could have kept riding forever, enjoying the freedom of the wind and the power of the animal beneath him, but as his mother was so fond of saying, princes have many responsibilities. If he missed his lessons again, he would be in trouble. Not that he cared if his whipping boy received another beating, but he couldn't stand it when his father lectured him. Stupid old man.

As he passed one of the stable outbuildings, he could hear loud voices and raucous laughter. Curious, he drew closer, in time to catch a snatch of conversation.

"D'you really think it's a good idea?" A young man's voice, slightly slurred.

"O' course," replied another in a lazy drawl. "Women love me. What could go wrong?"

"Y'don't think the king might have something to say about you tryin' to sleep with every woman working in the castle? And keeping score?"

"King Robert? Like he can complain about who a man fucks! Old fat fuck."

Joffrey had heard enough. He stormed through the doorway to see two young men, stable workers by their clothing, sitting slouched on a bale of hay. Their clothing was disarranged, and they smelled heavily of wine. They looked startled at his sudden appearance, but one quickly rallied. He made no attempt to hide the wineskin in his hand, but gazed up at Joff with a bleary insolence. "What can we do for you, m'lord?"

Joffrey recognised the voice of the second speaker, the one who had insulted his father. "You may kneel, and beg my pardon for your words. If you are fortune, I might forgive you." He tried for the tone of command that he had heard his father use so many times, but his voice cracked on the last words, and he fought the urge to curse.

The boy who had not yet spoken made as if to kneel, but the other stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "We ain't done nothing wrong, m'lord. We were just talking."

"You were 'just talking' about your king!" Joffrey shot back. "Perhaps you would like to repeat your words to him?"

"Don't see how he could complain," replied the boy with a smirk. "He's old and fat and he'll fuck anything that moves. I've only said the truth."

Joffrey saw red. Ignoring the horrified face of the other boy, he threw himself at the speaker. Wresting the wineskin out of his grasp, he flung it as hard as he could across the courtyard behind him, and heard it smash wetly against the ground. With a roar, his foe lashed out at him, landing a blow across his face.

The next few minutes were a flurry of punching and scrambling. The other boy was older and a head taller than Joff, but was slow-witted with drink, and Joff was filled with a burning fury. As they rolled about on the ground, Joffrey managed an elbow to the boy's eye, and a punch to his mouth that made him swear ferociously. Joff managed to fend off a kick to his face, but took a blow to the ribs that left him gasping for breath. Finally, a lucky kick to the groin had the boy rolling in agony. Joff staggered to his feet and followed it with another kick, smiling in grim satisfaction at the boy's howls.

"Get up," he snarled, wiping an arm across his face. It came away bloody, and he dabbed at his nose with his sleeve in a half-hearted attempt to stop the flow. The other boy whimpered, but eventually managed to gain his knees. His friend had long since fled, and he seemed to sober rapidly when he found himself alone.

Joff looked down on him with disdain. "Now," he said slowly, enjoying every minute, "let me hear your apology."

"Please, Prince Joffrey, I'm sorry. Truly. I was drunk, and I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Please."

Joffrey considered for a moment. "It's not enough," he said finally. The other boy's eyes widened in fear. "I'm not sure that you are truly sorry," Joff continued with a predatory smile. "Convince me."

"Please, m'lord, please. I never meant nothing, I swear! I'm sorry I said it, and I'm sorry I hit you. Please don't tell no one, please!"

Joff watched him grovel. One day, when he was king, he would be able to inspire this sort of fear and respect in all men. Right now, he would have to settle for this. Finally, when the other boy had all but bowed his head to the ground, and his pleas had degenerated into incoherent sobs, he spoke. "Very well, I will accept your apology."

"Thank you, Prince Joffrey, thank you!" The boy raised his head, his gratitude almost shameful to watch. "I'll never do it again, I swear!"

Joffrey aimed a parting kick that sent the boy sprawling. "See that you don't. No one says things like that about my father!"

No one but me, he amended silently as he made his way inside the keep. His father was old and fat, but he was still a great king, and Joffrey wasn't going to hear that sort of talk about him.

He had hoped to reach his chambers without being seen by anyone of note, but his hopes were dashed as he rounded a corner and almost walked straight into his mother. His father was right behind her; they must have been attending some important occasion, as they were rarely together otherwise. Joffrey muttered a curse. Before he could escape, his mother had grabbed his chin, turning it towards the light.

"Joff! Darling, you're hurt! What on earth happened?"

"I'm fine, mother!" he protested, struggling in her grip.

"You are certainly not fine, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed.

"Hush, Cersei," his father rumbled, but he went ignored.

Over his and his father's protests, Joff was dragged into the nearest room, a guest bedchamber, currently unoccupied except for a maid who was sweeping the floor.

"Out!" commanded his mother, as the maid squeaked in fear at being suddenly confronted by three such important personages. "And fetch the maester!"

"I don't need a maester, mother," said Joffrey, batting at her hands. "It's nothing serious."

"Oh, really? Then perhaps you could tell me why you've bled all over your nice new doublet? And you're covered in dirt." His mother's nose wrinkled delicately.

"Leave the boy alone, Cersei," said his father. "He's old enough to take care of himself. Stop nagging."

"Tell me, Joff," she commanded, ignoring his father once again. "I mean to know, and you will not leave this room until you tell me what happened."

Joffrey heaved a sigh of pure exasperation. "I was in a fight, mother. Happy now?"

"A fight? With your fists, I assume, since your nose is bleeding. How could you? Princes don't brawl like commoners. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that there was someone who really needed hitting, Mother," Joffrey replied blandly. His father chuckled.

"And who was this person?" his mother demanded. "And what was so important that you had to lower yourself to the level of a common gutter rat?"

Joffrey hesitated. "He was a stable worker, and he... said something."

"He 'said something'? I thought we raised you better than this. What if someone had seen you rolling in the dust with some stableboy? Why didn't you just report him to his superior and let the matter rest? What did he say that was so terrible?"

"He... he said something about Father."

"Which was?"

Joffrey remained stubbornly silent. It was one thing to mutter such sentiments under his breath when his father was being particularly frustrating, but it was quite another to repeat them as the words of some drunk stableboy. His father would be shamed, furious.

"Come, Joff," his father said at last. "You may as well tell us. Your mother obviously means to keep us here until the world ends and the Others claim us all, elsewise."

Joffrey's face was hot with anger and shame. "He called you an old, fat fuck," he muttered finally, not daring to look up.

There was a brief pause, then suddenly his father burst into a roar of laughter. Stunned, Joffrey began to relax.

"He called me..." his father gasped out, "and you..." Eventually he sobered enough to catch his breath. "Well, my boy," he clapped Joffrey on the shoulder, "we'll make a melee fighter of you yet."

And Joffrey felt a hundred feet tall.


End file.
